


so many miles between us now/i’ve been waiting for the sun to rise where you are

by feminist14er



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/pseuds/feminist14er
Summary: mike leaves for chicago. ginny is most certainly not bitter about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get caught up on Pitch until about three weeks ago, so I wrote this based on pure speculation. And really, what if Mike had left? (I don't know anything about baseball, but I ASSUME THEY WOULD HAVE PLAYED EACH OTHER EVENTUALLY, and isn't THAT a hot mess to consider).
> 
> Title from Susie Suh and Robert Koch/The Broods.

When Ginny thinks about it, it’s almost exactly like when Miller left; locker emptied, nameplate removed, and not so much as a goodbye ( _not even a text or a call_ , she thinks, and she wishes she could wash the bitter taste of betrayal away, but she’s been left, been abandoned _so many times_ , she doesn’t even think that much of the bitterness on her tongue, just shrugs at Blip when he looks over at her, checking to see if she’s okay).

It feels emptier than usual when she gets back to her hotel, and she thinks about who she could call to fill the space, who she could ask to come over and hang out with her, and it’s not that she and Mike ( _Lawson_ , her brain reminds her) hung out together at her place, or even at his; it’s just that the knowledge of his absence is all that she can feel right now, and even though it’s not a real, physical ache, she feels it in every space she inhabits.

That’s enough to make her angry, and she’s just started a game, she shouldn’t wear out her arm pitching, but she grabs her stuff, heads back out the door and back to the batting cages, where she swings at balls until she’s dripping sweat again, exhausted. She swings until she can’t hear the whisper of his voice at the back of her mind, talking her through hitters.

\--

When they travel to Chicago for the first time, she and Miller bump fists, and she grins at him when he ribs her for her most recent interview. They don’t have much time, but she asks after his wife and kid, laughs at the way his face lights up.

She doesn’t see Lawson, and she doesn’t, absolutely does not think about it.

She doesn’t think about it until she’s on the mound, winding up to pitch at her catcher, and it throws her for a loop, but just as fast as she’s confused, she feels a fountain of rage welling up inside her, and that’s all it takes for her to lock eyes first with Livan, and then with Lawson. She winds up, and her shoulder sings with the effort, but she strikes him out once, twice, three times, and he walks, sure, but he kept trying to predict her, and she feels a savage pleasure at knowing he couldn’t figure out what she was up to.

( _all those hours thinking about hitters, and what to pitch, and apparently it was even more meaningless than she thought_ – that’s what rips through her).

When Livan comes out to the mound to check in with her, he puts his glove up to his mouth. All he says is, “Okay, Mami?” and it’s that nickname, the fondness and the trust he has with her – it’s enough to ground her, and she nods, looking him right in the eye. He nods back, pulls his mask down and walks back. 

She absolutely doesn’t meet Lawson’s gaze as he watches her from first.

\--

They lose the series to the Cubs, which isn’t a surprise, really. Lawson or no Lawson, Miller or no Miller, they’re still World Series champs, and the Padres are – not. Still, they managed to win one of the three games, and their record otherwise hasn’t been poor. She goes out with the guys to commiserate after, and it’s fun, just like it always is. She’s found her place with them; with Sonny and Blip and Livan; with Salvamini and Stubbs. She’s at home with them now, and they’re her family. Where it was tense and fraught her entire first season, negotiating egos and figuring out where she fit in, it’s gotten easier and easier, and, as much as she dislikes admitting it, in some ways? It’s gotten easier since Lawson left.

( _it’s just that they were so close, catcher and pitcher, rookie and old man. He had the insight that she needed, and she_ knows _Blip asked him to take her under his wing and it_ worked _. It worked until it didn’t, until he blew it up, until, until, until_ ).

He doesn’t try to call her while she’s in town, and they haven’t talked in months. Didn’t make eye contact today, or any of the other days she’s been near him this week.

She tells herself she’s not furious, not hurt, not withering away a little inside.

\--

She hears about him off and on in the months between their next game against each other. He’s dating Rachel; they’ve broken up; his beard is back; no he’s shaved again. He’s on the arm of a model, he’s alone, he’s got a dog, he’s out running on the lake – baseball gossip is sometimes as bad as plain celebrity gossip, and she tries not to read into what he’s doing based on what People Magazine says, but – he looks _good_ , she thinks, and that’s great and all, but – she wants to know what changed, if he’s less angry now.

She stops thinking about it, stops checking the headlines. The Cubs are still on a winning streak – she knows that much, and that’s because it’s impossible not to know. Still, he guest-spots on FS1 every now and again, and she leaves the TV off if she knows he’s going to be on. She’s less talked about now, but even still, she doesn’t need to be talked about _by_ him. She could be talked _to_ from him, and that might involve her yelling at him, but at least it would be something.

She doesn’t start when they have their next series game against them.

She’s not sure if Al is making a statement of some kind, trying to protect her, trying to rest her shoulder, or if she’s just reading too much into it, and it’s because she started against the Giants, but it _feels_ like she’s being coddled, and it makes her sour. She sits in the dugout, cheers on Sonny as he pitches, but her enthusiasm is lacking, and she can feel Blip side-eying her from a mile away.

Fortunately, in the dugout, she can’t really see Lawson.

She hears, later, that Livan had some words for Lawson, hears Sonny chide him a little. When she catches Livan’s eye, he gives her a crooked grin that she doesn’t see often. Her own smile is hesitant in return, and she wonders what he’s playing at, what he’s doing riling Lawson up.

When she sees Mike’s name on her phone later, she feels like hitting her head against the nearest wall. Duarte and his fucking _meddling_ , she thinks.

She thinks, briefly, about answering the phone, her thumb hovering over the green accept button, but – she’s starting tomorrow.

( _she hates that she’s being a ballplayer first and a woman second, but – she does_ not _need to go into a tailspin over this._ ) 

She hits the red button instead, then sends a text: _starting tomorrow. can’t talk._

She debates shutting her phone down entirely, but instead leaves it on, and she promises herself she’s not waiting to hear back from him. She’s still disappointed when she doesn’t.

\--

When she gets up the next morning, she takes a short run through her neighborhood (her _neighborhood_ , she still thinks with no small amount of glee. She’s leasing, yeah, because she could be traded at any time, just like Miller, but she has a place now, a little bungalow, and it’s _hers_ ) before she gets ready for the game. As she’s brushing her teeth, she looks over her anxiety medication, thinks about upping her dose for the day before deciding against it.

She won’t have a panic attack, because there’s nothing to panic over.

It’s her second season, but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to get over the noise, the enthusiasm, the encouraging signs when she walks out onto the mound. Where it was intimidating at first, now it’s just exciting to her, that this many women and girls have started tuning into baseball just over _her_. She’s figured out how to turn the pressure down; it’s not that it’s not still a lot, but she’s growing under the weight, instead of shrinking, and it’s a good feeling.

She doesn’t want to mess it up.

She meets Lawson’s eyes this time, when she pitches against him. They’re as striking as always, but this time, she feels like he’s trying to read her, like he used to do when she was on the mound sometimes, when he was still catching for her. It strikes a chord in her, makes her set her jaw and focus on Livan instead.

( _you used to focus on him behind the plate_ , her mind supplies. _you used to read him for cues, for the pitch. now you try and trick him out, and isn’t that the damnedest thing?_ )

She doesn’t strike him out this time, and if she were the type to have tantrums, now would be the time. Still, she grits her teeth against the jeers she hears from the Cubs fans, and when she goes up against their next batter, she does manage to strike him out, and that’s enough to shut up the fans, even if it’s not enough to stop her own inner critic.

Al pulls her a while later, and she goes back to the dugout feeling like she has eyes on her back. When she turns out, Lawson is watching her from across the way, and she scowls when she turns around, almost walking right into Blip on his way out for his at-bat.

He pauses for a second, looking at her before squinting out at the field. “He’s in town a while, you know. You could see him.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, her entire face taking on her disdain. He looks at her and shrugs, his face a mask of innocence. “I’m just saying,” he says, before walking to home.

( _she doesn’t even know what she wants, is the thing. does she want to see him? she doesn’t even know. wouldn’t know what to say if she did see him._ a small part of her inner voice says, _maybe you don’t need to say anything_ ). 

Well. There is that, she thinks.

\--

They lose all three games in the series this time, and she wants to punch a wall. If she were _actually_ one of the guys, she could do that, but instead, she keeps her stoic face on, and she absolutely does not cry any tears of rage when she showers off the last game. None at all.

When the guys go out that night, she begs off, saying she’s tired and is turning in early. And she is, that’s true, but she also doesn’t want to go out and get sad drunk over a bunch of stupid losses against a man who means more to her than he should.

She has a driver drop her off a ways from her place and walks the rest of the way, restlessness in her bones making her jittery. She craves the cool night air on her face, wants to listen to the quiet noises of the night in her neighborhood. She’s reveling in all of it, the brief moments of peace that she gets, when she gets to her house and realizes someone’s on her front porch.

She gets her phone out, ready to dial Blip, puts her keys between her knuckles and moves forward, only to recognize the way the button-up fits that particular set of shoulders, and that’s what makes her snap.

“Goddammit, Lawson, what the hell are you doing here?” she demands. “I was prepared to punch you in the face and call Blip in case you decided to kidnap me.”

He has the decency to look abashed, at least for a second. “Sorry, Baker. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She frowns. “Don’t show up unannounced on people’s doorsteps. It’s a dick move.” She brushes past him to unlock the door, flicking the light switch as she goes in. When she turns around, he’s still standing outside. “Well, are you coming in or what?” she asks impatiently.

He ducks his head, walks inside. “I didn’t think my coming in was a given, considering your greeting.”

“Well you’re here, aren’t you?” She drops her bag and her keys. “We could hash it out on the porch, or we could at least do the neighbors the courtesy of allowing them to sleep.” She scowls at him and feels childish for being petulant, but – _seriously_ , showing up on her doorstep?

But yeah, seriously. When she actually thinks about it, it’s a very Lawson thing to do.

While she’s been eying him, he’s been looking over her living room, her kitchen. “This is a nice place you’ve got here,” he says appreciatively.

“Thanks,” she bites out. “Evelyn helped me find it.” She glances up at him. “Surely you didn’t scare the life out of me just to admire my decorative scheme.”

He fidgets, and just for a second, she feels badly for him. She sees the child he must have been, getting in trouble, or conning someone on his mom’s behalf (and yeah, they talked about it a little, their fucked up childhoods – she knows enough), and she softens a little.

She sighs. “Do you want anything? I’m not asking if you want to sit down, because this is awkward enough, but do you want water? Coffee?”

He glances up at her, and she takes him in for a minute, the way his beard is trimmed up, more scruff than beard, the way his shirts fit him better, and she’s not sure what it means that he’s better kept than he was the last time she saw him. It could just be training and caring, trying to make a good impression on new fans, a new city. It could be trying to impress a person, and she doesn’t know what to make of that.

( _she feels a bit at sea, honestly, and it’s not a new feeling for her, but this context is – yeah, it’s a little new_ )

“Just water, I guess?” he asks, and she pours it out for him, sliding it across the counter. She doesn’t want to touch him, doesn’t want to spark whatever it was that almost drove them together.

He sips at it, and they stand there, far apart and so close. She doesn’t fidget, trying to wait it out, _willing_ him to talk, but her patience has limits, and after what feels like eons of silence, she finally asks, “So – are you here to talk, or what?”

He looks at her then, and it’s like it was earlier this week, like he’s trying to suss her out, his gaze assessing. “You look well,” he says. “You’re playing like shit, though.”

She snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay, you can go. You’re not my catcher. We don’t do this anymore, remember? You asked to leave, Oscar made it happen for you, Livan catches for me now.” What she can’t _stand_ is that he has the audacity to look upset, and when he starts to open his mouth, she waves him off. “No, seriously. What gives you the right? You find my house, you decide that you have _pitching advice_ the night after we’ve lost our second series to your new team?” She shakes her head. “You can fuck right off, Lawson,” she says, turning away from him. She can feel anger simmering under her skin, and she’s honestly even more annoyed that he’s gotten to her. She’s supposed to be the cool customer, collected, ready for whatever.

She can hear him sigh behind her, hears a sound that might be him scratching at his scruff. “Fuck, Baker, that’s not what I meant,” he says, and the regret in his voice sounds genuine. When she turns back around, he’s dropped to his forearms on the counter, and she wonders who’s working on his back now, because this wouldn’t have been comfortable for him before.

“Fine,” she says. “What did you mean?”

He watches her carefully for a minute, and she wills herself to stay still under his scrutiny. She doesn’t have anything to hide from him.

After a minute, she can see a shift in his gaze, feels as it softens, and it’s then that she thinks she might be in real trouble. He stands back up, walks toward her slowly, and she forces herself to stand, let him come to her.

When he’s standing right in front of her, his nose just a hairsbreadth away from her forehead, he reaches out, touches her hip gently, and she shudders a bit under his touch. “You look well,” he says again, his breath fanning out against her skin. “I – “ he stutters, stops for a minute, and she lets her eyes close against the feelings racing through her. Most immediately, it’s that she wants to be touched, everywhere, by _this man_ , the one right in front of her, not running away this time.

His thumb rubs over her hip bone, and she sways into him. “I miss playing with you,” he says. “Fuck, Baker – I don’t want to play with you if I can have this instead, but I miss – “ he stops again, breathes out. “I miss _everything_.”

She looks up at him for a minute, collects herself. “Lawson, we’re not doing this if it’s just ‘cause you miss me,” she says. “We’re not doing a nostalgia fuck. _I’m_ not doing that with you,” she says, and if it’s more vulnerable than she’d normally like, well – she’s a little more vulnerable than she’d really like.

“Baker – _Ginny_ , no,” he says, drawing her back into him, curving a hand around her neck, rubbing softly at the tension there. She can feel herself melting into him, tries to maintain her focus when he says, “I want _you_ , Baker. It’s been miserable without you, these past months. My pitcher actually listens to my calls now,” he teases, and she laughs against his chest.

“Fuck you, Lawson,” she laughs. “If I’m playing like shit, your calls are like shit. At least Duarte and I are in sync on our shitty decisions.”

Mike moves them then, pins her against the counter with his hips, and she groans a little feeling him pressed up against her like that. They’ve never done this, never so much as kissed, but it doesn’t mean she hasn’t _thought_ about it, and if it’s been half in rage and half in desire, well – that’s just made it all the more interesting.

Still, when she looks up at Mike, his gaze is intense, and it’s pinned on her. She smiles, slow and knowing, and when he rolls his hips against her possessively, watching her carefully, she knows for sure. “Something got you riled up, Lawson?” she asks, teasing back.

He kisses her then, and it’s full of bite, a mixture of frustration and desire and bossiness, and it’s so very _Mike_ , and she’s overwhelmed for a minute, before she’s back in the game, tongue moving against his, and when he breaks away, it’s to bite his way down her neck, and he’s sucking a mark behind her ear before she has a chance to swat him away, and when she finally regains her senses long enough to tell him not to mark her where someone can see, it’s too late.

She’s pissed at him, sure, but she can also feel a rush of heat to her cunt at the thought that people are going to _know_ , and if the entire world doesn’t know it’s Mike, _enough people_ are going to know, and – yeah. It’s working for her.

“Who’s in sync, now?” he growls against her skin, mouthing across her collarbone.

“I’m still not sure,” she gasps out, and when he gets a knee between her legs for her to rock against, she works her hands into his hair, guiding him when she nudges her t-shirt out of the way to bite at the swell of one breast. “ _Fuck_ , Mike,” she whines, grinding down on his thigh.

“That’s what I thought, rookie,” he says, smug. She wants to roll her eyes, but he’s dragging his hands up her sides, pulling her shirt over her head and taking her bra with it, and then he’s just _looking_ , and she’s not particularly self-conscious, nor is she especially vain, but his gaze is so _appreciative_ , and she’s not sure whether to be shy, or to shake her head back and let him look his fill.

While she’s deciding, he makes up his own mind, boosts her up on the counter and gets his mouth on one breast and his hands on the other. She loves the wetness of his mouth on her nipple, but it’s the callouses on his fingers, callouses from the sport they both love, that has her feeling increasingly frantic, and when she whines at him, he looks up at her in surprise, sees the tension in the hand that’s holding her hair back, and switches priorities.

“Okay, okay, rookie, hang on,” he says, and he’s soothing her, trying to bring her back down a bit while he gets her jeans off and down her ankles. He swipes his fingers through the wetness at her entrance and looks back up at her in appreciation. She kicks at him lightly, urging him on, and when he drops down and his mouth makes contact for the first time, she feels like writhing wildly against his face. She settles for playing with her breasts instead, and she hears a sharp intake of breath that tells her that he’s watching her, even as his tongue begins working over her clit. He mouths at her gently for a while, gradually working her up, and when she starts to rock ever so slightly against his mouth, he eases two fingers into her, begins working her over, closes his mouth over her clit and sucks, gently, then steadier until she’s scrabbling for purchase, the scrape of his scruff and the steady pressure of his mouth and hand too much, too much, and so good all at once. When she starts to come down, she smoothes her fingers through his hair, easing the sting of her earlier motions, and he rubs her gently through the aftershocks before placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh.

When he stands up, she reaches for him, licks the taste of herself from inside his mouth. They make out like that for a while, steady and affectionate, but she can feel the hardness of his erection against her, and the more she thinks about it, the more she wants him in her. She nudges him back and hops off the counter. She feels particularly brazen walking around her kitchen naked with Mike Lawson following her, but she glances back with a shy smile to see him looking at her with a stunned look. When she stops to wait for him, he catches up to her and kisses her again, like they have all the time in the world.

They make it up the stairs eventually, and she pulls Lawson down alongside her, still mouthing at his jaw. He’s kneading at her breast, and she wants him with increasing urgency, wants to feel the weight of him against her. She pulls back long enough to unbutton his shirt and get it off him before reaching for the button of his pants.

He laughs at her as she tries to get his pants and boxer briefs off, and she glares at him until he starts helping her. “Impatient, Baker,” he says in her ear.

“Keep up, Lawson,” she says, reaching down to stroke his length. She’s no longer surprised about the stories she’s heard about Mike and ice baths, feeling the weight of him in her hand. At some point, she’s going to want to get her mouth on him, but right now – yeah, not right now. Instead, she reaches around and digs for a condom, slapping it into his hand and watching him roll it on.

“What do you want?” he asks, when he’s got the condom on.

“You, in me, now,” she says, and he laughs at her. She nudges at him until he’s resting in the cradle of her hips. “This,” she says softly, looking up at him, and for all her attitude, she’s sincere now, face softening, and he kisses her slowly, and it’s the sort of kiss that she loves best, the kind that’s full of tempered passion, and it scares her a little to be having this kind of kiss with Lawson, right now, after losing a series to him and his team, but it’s also – it’s _Mike_ , and this is what she’s wanted for a while now. 

He slides into her a bit at a time, letting her adjust as he goes. Once he’s fully seated in her, hips flush together, he cards a hand through her hair, waiting for her to be ready. When she kisses him and nods, he starts moving, and her knees come up around his ribs. They groan together, and she kisses sharply along his collarbone, just a hint of teeth. She’s not sure she’s going to come again, is satisfied feeling the gentle pressure of his body against hers, but all of a sudden, he changes the angle, thrusts just right, and then she’s riding him from below, panting a little, and when she gets a hand between them, rubbing at her clit, he bites out, “ _Fuck_ , Ginny,” and she’s spiraling out, and she can hear him groan in appreciation above her, his hips still working, increasingly frantic, and when she starts clenching around him, it only takes a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s spilling into the condom, and he never lets his full weight collapse on her, but he’s barely holding himself up on his forearms now, and she basks in the feeling for a minute, petting down his spine until he rolls off her to deal with the condom.

When he comes back from the bathroom, she goes in to pee, comes back to see Lawson on his side watching her as she comes out, and she’s struck with the same feeling as before, shy, but also reveling in the obvious, open admiration in his gaze, and _jesus_ how long has he looked at her like this?

She slides into the bed across from him, and when he wraps a hand around her hip and guides her toward him, she goes readily, breathing him in.

She doesn’t want to bring it up, but – “You’re leaving soon,” she says. “You play for Chicago. You live in Chicago.”

He kisses her hair. “I’m retiring at the end of the season, Ginny.”

She pulls back abruptly. “You’re retiring and you let yourself be traded? I thought you would play at least a few more seasons if you weren’t going to finish as a Padre.”

He props himself up on one elbow. “I’m ready to be done. My knees are ready to be done. I’ve got surgery scheduled as soon as October, if we don’t make it to the World Series. It’s time for something new.” 

She thinks for a minute. “Does this – “ she gestures between them, “Is this because you’re retiring? Because you know I’ve been here before, and it didn’t go well.”

Mike shakes his head immediately. “No. I’m retiring either way. I’d like to retire and be with you, but I’m done, rookie.”

She settles back down. “So what are we doing until you retire?”

“You decide, Baker. You’re the one with a rule, not me. I want to be with you. I’d like to be with you now, but if it’s important to you, I’ll wait.”

“Good answer, Lawson,” she says. She yawns then, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. Mike drags her back toward him again, pulls her flush against his front.

“Can we decide tomorrow?” he asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. She nods against him, her eyes already closing. He smiles, just a little. “Night, rookie,” he says, breathing her in.

Yeah, he thinks, as he drifts off. She’s worth the wait.


End file.
